


One Million And One

by theladyofthedarkcastle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, First time writing Rushbelle, RCIJ 2015, Student!Belle, Teacher!Rush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyofthedarkcastle/pseuds/theladyofthedarkcastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicholas Rush finds himself out his depth in both his classroom and his personal life as Belle French crashes into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Million And One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July to my marvelous, wonderful, beautiful giftee westcoastmalone! :D I have had a blast being your Santa and getting to know you!! (Sorry I didn’t take you up on your offer to beta, I couldn’t have you beta your own gift!!) This is the first time I’ve ever written Rushbelle and to be honest, I failed epically at adding your prompts, but I hope you like what I’ve ended up with! :D Special shoutout to endangeredslug for being my absolute favorite shoulder angel/devil and beta-ing! <3

Nicholas Rush wasn’t as much aware of the fact that he was mumbling to himself as he crossed the tree-lined campus, he was only aware of the girl who was crossing the other way as she slammed into his front, knocking his notepad out of his hand, and sending it flying into the only mud puddle he could see for at least a block. 

The girl, tiny thing that she was, was already trying to pluck it out of the muck, apologizing profusely. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m so sorry. You see, I was just trying to cross the street, but I only had a couple pages left and I thought to myself, well I can just finish them and be on my way, I didn’t think…” 

“Enough.” Rush had dealt with enough freshman undergraduates in his life to realize what he was dealing with: a girl who hadn’t learned to use her own damned eyes before wandering into someone else’s space. 

The girl froze, his notebook freed from the slime, but with pieces of mud dripping softly onto the girl’s trainers. He thanked the portion of his brain that leaned towards making his memory photographic. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have too much lost work. As the girl was standing there, notebook still outstretched, Rush noticed the book she must have been so enthralled with, tucked under an arm. He couldn’t quite make out the title. It didn’t really matter. No simple novel was important enough to take your mind off of the simple tasks of walking. 

He snatched the notebook from her grip, ripping the mud-soaked, paper cover clean off and thrusting it back into her hand. “I trust you can keep your eyes open long enough to locate a waste receptacle.” 

He didn’t bother to note anything beyond the flush beginning to creep up the girl’s neck before turning smartly on his heel and heading back towards his office and the heart of campus. If he was quick, he’d have enough time to get a new notebook from the box he kept under his desk and begin to transcribe his notes while on his way to the department chair’s office. 

He was pretty sure the new school year started sometime within the next week. He had it written down on one of the hundreds of sticky notes that covered one whole wall of his office. The memo that had alerted him to the meeting that he was now probably late for, had been emailed every hour on the hour up until yesterday. He had gotten so fucking sick of the blasted dinging sound his computer would make that he’d unplugged it in a fit of rage only to have the department reinstall it that night complete with wiring that had permanently attached. 

Rush had no idea what was so bloody important that the chair of the department couldn’t have sent it in a fucking email. She’d proven she’d known how to send the damn things well enough. 

He finally reached the worn oak door that had housed his innermost workings for the past six years. In a way, since Gloria had passed away, it had become more of a home than the ratty apartment that he rented a few blocks from campus. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sell their house, but he hadn’t been able to set foot in it either. Thank the universe Gloria’s parents had paid it off at some point in their marriage. Probably before she’d gotten sick. His in-laws wouldn’t have bothered to help make sure that the workaholic their only daughter had married kept a roof over his head. He knew he didn’t even deserve as much. 

The door stuck, as it always did, causing Rush to have to lean into it with his weight before it slammed open, crashing into the wall of old physics textbooks that he had turned into a breaking wall of sorts. He ripped the box from under his desk, pulling out another nondescript black notebook and grabbing a half-sharpened pencil out of the cup on his desk. 

The computer let out another damned noise. Rush chucked the pencil at the screen, wishing the half-rounded point would just sever him from the damned machine, and feigned nonchalance when it merely bounced off. 

He was losing it. 

Making sure the door let out a satisfying slam as he left, Rush retraced his steps from before his interruption and began the walk to the administration building. Why his department chair had insisted on moving to the main wing of administrators Rush still couldn’t figure out. If the woman thought she needed the location of her office to assuage anyone’s issues with her assuming the position, well, it wasn’t Rush’s job to correct her assumptions. 

He crossed campus far more quickly than he would’ve if he hadn’t been scribbling in his notebook so fervently. It had occurred to him more than once throughout his lifetime that the faster he worked out problems on paper, the more quickly he walked. 

The administration building was one of the originals to campus and stood as a testament to the west’s attempt to mirror some kind of “Ivy League” facade. Dr. Margaret Carroway’s office was on the third floor. He had three staircases to come to some kind of pause in his work. He scratched out a line before tearing an entire page out and shooting it at a wastebin someone had left in the hallway. 

He almost walked right past her door. 

Three raps on the surface was all Carroway was going to get. If she couldn’t be bothered to answer his initial contact, then he definitely couldn’t be bothered to stay. 

He had just decided to turn and walk away, his notebook was far more interesting, when the door swung open. Well damn it all to hell. 

“Nicholas. Come in. Thank you for seeing me.” Margaret greeted him warmly. A little too warmly. Things had been tense between the two of them ever since someone had let it slip that she’d only gotten the chair position after he’d turned it down. This wasn’t going to end well; she wanted something. 

He stood in front of her rather large desk, what on earth did she need such a massive piece of furniture for?

“Please sit, Nicholas.” She pointed at one of the leathered chairs perched ‘just so’ in front of the monstrosity. Rush knew they’d be incredibly uncomfortable. 

“What do you need from me Margaret? You obviously want something.” 

She at least had the grace to look somewhat ashamed before taking her own seat behind her desk. 

“Nicholas, the university is looking to promote more academic cooperation between departments, in addition to within them.” She steepled her hands. The pauses meant to prompt him to interject with something slightly irrational were getting simply annoying. 

“Cut to the chase Margaret. I have work to do.” 

She laughed. Why did she think he was lying. He definitely had work to do. 

“Yes, I assumed so. That’s why you’re here, in a sense.” She paused. He could tell he wasn’t going to be happy with whatever was coming next. “Nicholas. I know you’ve been extra dedicated to this place after Gloria’s passing, but...well, Nick, I’m worried about you. You’re doing too much. You need to put work into perspective.” 

Rush snorted. “Easy for you to say. You probably have the nice cushy home to match your nice cushy office to cover up the fact that you haven’t done any real science in years.” 

Margaret’s soft smile and slightly coughed giggle mocked him as she moved around the desk. “Nick, I’m only doing this to help you. The university mandated that each department offer up a professor to teach an introductory class in an area that they have knowledge in, but are not primarily working in currently. I noticed that you had a minor in American literature from your bachelor’s degree so you’ve been, traded, as you will, to the English department for the quarter.” 

Rush’s barking laugh cut through the air. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. You couldn’t possibly have said that I’m going to be wasting my hard earned time, time I could be spending researching something important, teaching snot-nosed freshman fucking English?!” 

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Margaret’s gaze met his. She wasn’t fucking joking. She shuffled through a sheaf of paper before plucking a single piece out of the mess. “Here. The class roster and a syllabus. Please familiarize yourself with both so you won’t be completely surprised when the first day of instruction is upon us.” 

Rush looked at her hand like it was a venomous snake or something he was equally likely to never go fucking near. 

Margaret dropped her hand with a sigh, “I didn’t want this to be difficult, Nick. I think it will do you some good, some fresh minds, a fresh subject, maybe give you a different angle for your work here.” 

If Margaret was so close minded that she seriously thought he would take this without pushing back, she was even more senile then he’d first assumed. 

“The hell it will, Carroway. I am not bloody wasting my time with that. No fucking way.”

Stretching her hand back towards him, she pressed the paper into his hand. “You don’t really have a choice. If you refuse to take the class, you forfeit your university funding for the upcoming school year.” 

The blood drained out of Rush’s face as he wheeled on his superior, paper dropping to the floor. 

“Margaret! Are you serious? Why didn’t you consult with me before you just threw me into this mess because you wanted me to! This is an outrage!” Rush knew he was getting irate, knew his accent was getting almost unintelligible, but all that mattered right now was finding a way out of the insane place he’d found himself in. 

The sigh that greeted him told him that this was probably exactly why she hadn’t come consult him first. Rush wasn’t stupid. He knew the reputation he’d earned not only within his own department, but within the university as a whole. If Margaret had come to him earlier, all that he would’ve accomplished would have been a lot of yelling and probably a loss of his funding even sooner. 

As he turned to leave, his foot caught on the syllabus almost tearing it in two. He felt a smaller hand on his shoulder. 

“Give it a chance, Nick. It could do you some good.” 

Bending down to free the paper from beneath his foot allowed Nick to shake Margaret off at the same time. 

“Fine.” He muttered under his breath as he pulled open the door, intending to stew about this until classes started… 

It was unlikely he had any real bargaining left to use but perhaps if instruction was far enough away, he could pawn the assignment off on one of his useless graduate students. “Um, Margaret. When do classes resume again?” 

Margaret’s voice sounded decidedly too gleeful for his liking. He had half a mind to turn around and confront her again. 

“Instruction resumes tomorrow Nicholas.” 

At that, he did turn around, catching Margaret in a full blown laugh. 

“Bloody hell.” 

“Better get to reading, Nicholas.” 

The sound of her laughter followed him all the way out of the building. 

\-----------------------------------

Five. Four. Three. Two… “Please open to chapter four. We’re going to continue where we left on from last lecture.” 

Soft rustling greeted his ears as his students reached into backpacks and bookbags alike. Rush glanced down at his watch again. Almost at the thirty second mark. He flipped open his own copy, flicking his eyes across the rows of desks. In his physics classes, he had a reputation of being able to track attendance simply by looking at a classroom. He didn’t advertise he was the owner of a photographic memory, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it came in handy once or twice...and if he wasn’t mistaken, this morning was going to be one of those times. 

Once more through the desks, noticing who was missing, who had forgotten their books, and who was asleep and he was positive; Belle French wasn’t in class. 

He snickered to himself. Well well, he’d finally worn her down. Five weeks, an entire half of the quarter, it had taken him to break down the unbelievably stubborn, disrespectful, bright-eyed, know-it-all girl. 

From the first moment she’d stepped into his dismally lit closet the English department placed their freshman English classes into, he was positive this already dire situation couldn’t get any worse. 

He’d been wrong. 

She’d shown up to class at least 10 minutes early every lecture period since, which, for a class that began at the ungodly hour of eight, was saying something. The fact that he remembered her running into him the day before class said something too, he just couldn’t quite figure out what yet. 

The first five weeks had been full of Belle French, creamy skin, impossible blue eyes, and her waving hand eagerly attempting to answer any and every question he could think to throw at the girl.

Woman. His brain still had a hard time figuring that one out, especially after the one and only time he’d encountered her outside of school hours, when things...well...got out of hand, at least as much as he could remember pointed to that. 

It was embarrassing. 

If this was a physics course, Rush would have had her running from the room to the Registrar demanding to be moved to a different class, but he had to admit his prowess at shattering students self confidence had suffered with his department switch. Instead, the obviously gifted literature student, who had managed to garner acceptance into one of the best public universities in the United States all the way from Australia, attempted to run circles around his reasoning while interjecting with her own mind numbing answers to why an author had chosen to do one thing or another. 

Students had just begun to rustle in their seats, bollocks he’d been standing here for almost a whole minute, when the door at the back of the room banged open admitting one flustered, and very excited Belle French. 

Her face was almost a laughable bright red, her sweater hanging haphazardly off of one shoulder, and her bookbag notably absent. Add that to the fact that she was wearing some kind of sweatpant, and Christmas had come early. 

Finally. She’d just handed him a reason to knock her down a couple of pegs on a figurative silver platter and he intended to use the opportunity to its fullest. 

“Ah, Ms. French. So glad of you to finally join us. I was beginning to think it was going to take something drastic like a flash sale at the local Barnes and Noble to get you to miss class.” 

Snickers erupted around him as the rest of the class woke up enough to realize the golden child was going to be reprimanded. That was the thing with golden children. Most of them were so intelligent they didn’t care that their passion for a subject would inevitably cause the rest of the class to harbor strong dislike towards them. However, if their behavior or intelligence ever failed, the event would follow them around for the rest of their lives. 

Rush would know. He managed to last until his sophomore year before snapping at one of his especially daft physics TAs but the discipline he’d stood still haunted him after a few pints of scotch. 

Belle’s face, his brain helpfully reminding him to use her surname, had turned an even deeper shade of red than it had been when she’d burst into the room. Obviously she’d been detained in some fashion and had still tried somewhat valiantly to make it to class on time. 

The flash of glee he felt at her failure was quickly overshadowed by the strangest urge to ask her if everything was alright. 

She took another step into the room, eyes darting from side to side, looking everywhere but him. Her usual desk, middle of the front row, stood empty in silent accusation of the fact that it was missing its usual inhabitant. 

A thousand insults flittered through his head. He could comment on her appearance, so distant from her usual array of skirts and patterned tights. He could throw a pop quiz on her, when he’d bet every dollar he had she actually hadn’t read last night, and make her take it in front of the class. He could...realize she was standing directly in front of him. 

“I need to speak with you.” Her voice was hushed, pitched for him, not the other subpar students stuck in the lowest literature course available. Come to think of it, he’d never asked her how she’d ended up here. She was obviously far more advanced than anyone else in this room, himself too if he was being completely honest, something that felt about as right as an out of whack Belle. 

“Um…” God, he hated when he stuttered, especially in front of students, especially in front of her. “As it has seemed to escape your notice, class began,” a glance at his watch, “four whole minutes ago. Please take your seat or leave.” 

Were those tears filling her eyes?! What on earth was going on in this girl’s head this morning? Woman, his brain chided even as he had to suppress a physical urge to go and usher her to the safety of anywhere but here. At least she turned towards her seat rather than force him to continue his diatribe. 

As soon as her form was bent into the desk, he picked up his worn copy of The Grapes of Wrath, it’d been the only one on Carroway’s list he’d read before and could thus banter about with some level of authority. He’d have to wait until his fifty minutes of lecture were over before he could confront Belle, Ms. French, about what was bothering her so much. It was probably something ridiculous, like a missing homework assignment. 

“Your papers need to be on my desk before the start of next lecture. If I start speaking before your paper hits my desk it will be marked down a third of a letter grade. At least.” The chorus of moans and bitten curse words that met his remarks brought a full half smile to his face. He loved the plight of the college freshman, having to break the habits of extended deadlines and hand holding. The real world didn’t do either and neither would he. 

Shuffling and slamming, the soundtrack of his class’s tri-weekly exodus, was the sweetest music he ever did hear. His desk just needed to be repacked into his own bookbag and he could finally be free to work on something valuable again. So intent was he on getting every last scrap of notes that he almost missed the small sob that sounded from behind him. 

Shit. Belle hadn’t left. He didn’t even need to turn around to know which student was still in their desk, waiting for his somewhat undivided attention. There was only one student he was teaching this quarter that would be comfortable in the same room as he; and sure enough, a quick pivot showed Belle French, sitting in the same position she’d held for almost an hour, silent tears dripping down her face. 

Whatever was bothering her, it was hopefully more serious than missing school work; if she was this upset. Perhaps it would be best to approach, well, quietly. 

“Ms. French.” 

Her eyes were even bluer with the shining tears. Something in him cracked a little as he took in her face. Why on earth had he ridiculed her so ardently in class? 

She reminded him so much of himself. 

“Ms. French,” he tried again. Why did this have to be so damned hard sometimes? He’d rather lock himself in his office with his whiteboard and never interact with the world again. Some part of his brain had the sense to remind him if he did that, he’d never seen any part of Ms. French, Belle, again. Another part of his brain reminded him why he very much wanted to see her again. 

Her eyes were doing that thing they did when she was upset, darting to and fro, not really focusing on anything in particular. He was going to have to try a little harder. 

“Belle.” Her Christian name earned him her eyes, which he was dismayed to see where even more red than they’d been an hour ago. She’d been suffering while he’d been rambling on about the plights of the Great Depression farm worker. “What’s going on?” 

Bracing himself for whatever her worst was in this moment, his mind fought between wanting to run out of the room or to throw himself in front of whatever danger was lurking in Belle’s mind. 

“They kicked me out.” 

That hadn’t even been one of the top ten things he’d thought was the matter. Who had kicked her out? The library? Barnes and Noble? Had she joined a sorority? 

“Who, exactly, was doing the kicking? It wasn’t actually me this time.” 

Not even a smile. Maybe her parents? 

Her voice, when it came, was the softest he’d ever heard it. “Do you ever think about that night?” 

“What?” Good lord, he sounded like every other daft in the head male on this campus. Whatever caused his brain to short was directly related to the woman sitting in front of him. 

“That night. I know you know what I’m talking about Nic...Rush...Professor.” She coughed, causing tears to fall from her eyelashes. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

“Aye.” 

“Nick...I…” More tears. This was getting out of hand. 

“Spit it out, Ms. French.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d erred. Her face snapped up, wet eyes piercing through his hastily thrown up armor. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Rush stared at her like she’d just announced a major change to the physics department. “I beg your pardon, Ms. French.” 

“Damn it, Nick! Not now. Please not now. Please.” 

Fuck. Now the tears were streaming down her face and he felt like the right bastard he knew he was, had always been, and probably always would be. 

Fuck. He couldn’t be a father to some kid. Some kid who’d pull on his time and his money and pull away from his research. He couldn’t afford to stop! There wasn’t room in his life for this. 

Simple enough. 

Belle had moved while his mind had raced and stood in front of him, bracing herself against the anger she knew would come. Rush couldn’t help but sweep his eyes down her form, attempting to note any kinds of changes. Scientifically, he knew that was ridiculous, it was far too soon to have any sort of physical evidence. Wait, it was still early enough. 

“Belle. Belle, it’s still early. We can still take care of this, have our lives!” His brain had finally decided to switch to Belle at the least opportune time. 

“Nicholas Rush!” Her screech had hardly left her mouth before her fists landed on his chest. He was a scrawny scientist, that was certain, but he hadn’t grown up in Glasgow for nothing. If there was one thing he was good at, besides physics and causing horrifically laughable twists of fate to rain down upon his life, it was stopping someone smaller than he from beating on him. 

“Belle! Fuck! Stop!” 

“This is our baby! Ours! You can’t just suggest something like that! Something...something...terrible! Horrible! You evil! Heartless! Man!” 

Every word that rained down on him brought a struggle from her petite frame. She was so small. So small. And now carrying his...no. He refused to think of it as anything more than cells. 

“Belle listen to me!” He shouted, finally pinning her arms down at her side. Her breathing was causing her chest to heave in and out, wracking shivers through her body. 

“If you think for one second, Nicholas Rush, that I would do that to our child, you are the stupidest man I’ve ever known.” Her voice, broke, sounding scratchy in her throat. 

Releasing one of Belle’s wrists to run a hand through his greying hair he wanted to give in to the maelstrom of emotions rolling through his own body. He and Gloria had talked about it, sure. They’d talked about a family plenty. There was always more time, something more important in the now. His work, her career. His research, her charities. They’d talked about it on the day she’d heard back from the doctor. 

They’d never talked about it again. 

Any false dreams Rush had about being some kind of father figure had died with Gloria and here was one of his students, his student, standing here forcing him back into that dream. He felt like Gloria’s spirit, wherever it was, was perversely laughing at him. 

His hands dropped from Belle’s. Any part of her that was touching him felt like some kind of righteous fire, both crucifying and cleansing him. She took her arms back, folding into herself. He could see her closing herself against him...no...closing him out; away from the...the baby. 

His hand reached out, brushed against a sweater covered arm. She didn’t deserve this. They weren’t anything really. They were one cliche stacked on top of another. The one night stand with a teacher. Books were written about people like them, about how it could only end in heartbreak or a lawsuit. 

“Belle.” He had to do something. He couldn’t leave her like this, couldn’t leave her looking like the world was burning down around her while she stood, wrapping one pale arm around a nonexistent stomach. 

“I can’t get rid of this baby, Nicholas. I just...can’t. Please. Please, Nick, don’t ask me to.” Her voice cut through his body, piecing his heart. If he knew he had a soul, believed in that sort of thing, it would have pierced through that too. 

“I...I won’t ask you to do that. But, I can’t lie to you and tell you I want this...this...baby.” 

Belle met his eyes. Gods, she was beautiful. Wet but strong, her eyes met his, not as a student, or even as a lover, but as a mother. 

“I don’t know that I want it either, Nick, but it’s ours and I want to try.” 

Rush thought of the hundreds of pieces of paper littering his office and apartment, filled with half thought through equations, scribbled numbers and markings. If there was one thing his life had ingrained in him, hell look at how far he’d come, it was that he could try a million times to get to the answer that worked. He might never call Belle his, though the thought rocked him on his heels, but if there was a piece of him walking around, then he owed it to that kid to at least try. 

He reached a hand towards her form, tucking a curl over her shoulder. 

“I can try.”


End file.
